


That's Christmas to Me

by Flamebreaker



Category: Pentatonix
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Inspired by Music, Mistletoe, Music, PTXmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 04:45:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4652778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flamebreaker/pseuds/Flamebreaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Okay, so I [re]watched the PTX Mistletoe video on YouTube. The #kavi feels hit me over the head, and this was what it knocked out of my brain. Never move to the Southern hemisphere; I miss winter Christmases!</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's Christmas to Me

I opened my eyes blearily, sitting up and stretching with a lazy yawn, pushing my unruly hair out of my face, and wincing as I tugged on the lights I had woven into the currently-blonde curls. It took me a few moments to remember where I was exactly, but the memories came back quickly enough. I had drifted off on the couch after the holiday party had ended, having shared a large bottle of sweet wine with Scott and Mitch earlier in the evening. 

Avi’s parents and sister had been there, my parents, Kevin, Scott, and Mitch, all with their respective families. It had been just a fun get-together before our own separate holiday celebrations the next day. Or, for Avi’s Jewish families, the celebrations had already started with Hanukah candles that had been lit for the last few days.

Avi had found me curled up in a ball after the guests had left, and his soft kiss and the blanket he had tucked around my shoulders had woken me enough to beckon him to join me on the couch in front of the fire. That was where we had fallen asleep together, snug and cosy and still listening to the strains of the PTX Christmas carols from the album playing through the speakers. I had meant to turn off the music earlier, but hadn’t gotten around to it. It was far too festive, and nothing seemed right without carols on Christmas Eve. 

The fire had been reduced to glowing embers, glinting red and green off the tinsel, casting shadows from the stockings hanging above, embroidered with our names: Michael, Shelly, Esther, Avriel, Kirstie. On the mantle, the menorah burned brightly, a contrast to the Christmas tree decorated in the corner of the living room. The whole room was bright with fairy lights and fire. It was beautiful to wake up to, and I breathed in the smell of pine happily. 

I checked my watch. It was a little after two in the morning, and it was at that moment that I noticed that Avi was gone, though the spot beside me was still warm. My immediate moment of panic was stopped by the sudden realization that there were the sounds of movement coming from the kitchen. I followed the strings of fairy lights down the passageway, following the sound of a bass humming and a kettle whistling. 

I leaned against the doorframe, watching the bass in question measure out cocoa powder and milk into two mugs, bobbing his head in time to the carol he was singing along to. He was still wearing his early presents from Kevin – the red, bobble-topped beanie patterned with green holly leaves and the red-and-green plaid shirt he had worn for the party. He looked… very festive. 

I felt very festive. Smiling sappily, I watched Avi bustle about the kitchen with hot chocolate and a plate of cookies, which he put on the bench so he could carry the two mugs without risking spilling the hot drinks. 

The basso profondo hadn’t heard me walk into the room, so he jumped when he turned around to head back into the living room and nearly ran into me. Smiling shyly, he held out a mug. 

“Hey, Kirstie. You looked too cute to wake up, but I made you some hot chocolate just in case you did wake up. I just felt like hot chocolate.” 

“Thanks.” I took the mug before clinking it against Avi’s, breathing in the familiar, wintery scent of the drink before I took a sip. It was hot and sweet and just perfect… like Avi; I smiled rolled my eyes toward the ceiling, exasperated with my own sappiness. 

A flash of green caught my eye, and I looked up properly, where someone – probably Mitch, sneaky guy – had hung a single sprig of mistletoe, its green leaves strikingly colourful against the snow-white ceiling and sweet, white flowers. 

“Mistletoe,” Avi remarked, following my gaze before looking down at me with a lopsided smile curving the corner of his plush mouth. His eyes were bright with mischief and affection, and I grinned back at him. 

“Mistletoe,” I echoed, trying not to let my eyes follow the tilt of Avi’s full, cupids-bow lips. The flush I felt suddenly might just be from the fire and the blankets, or from the basso profondo’s proximity, or the hot chocolate he had made for us, or the wine still in my blood, or…. My immediate though was the Sing-Off Christmas Special we had done, and I started singing our song lightly. 

"Everyone's gathering around the fire, chestnuts roasting like a hot July. I should be chillin' with my folks, I know, but I'm gonna be under the mistletoe. With you, Avi, with you. With you, Avi, with you. With you, under the mistletoe.” The basso profondo laughed at my changing the lyrics; his smile was the cutest thing in the world.

Avi quietly started singing his bassline under my melody, and I smiled up at him. I put my mug back on the bench, my hands resting gently on his chest instead. The basso profondo looked fit to burst with joy, his smile so wide he could barely sing. He was adorable. 

“Hey love, the Wise Men followed the stars, the way I follow my heart, and it led me to a miracle. Hey love, don't you buy me nothing, ‘cause I am feeling one thing: your lips on my lips. That's a merry, merry Christmas.”

We sung in unison.

“It's the most beautiful time of the year. Lights fill the streets spreading so much cheer. I should be playing in the winter snow, but I'm gonna be under the mistletoe. I don't wanna miss out on the holidays, but I can't stop staring at your face. I should be playing in the winter snow, but I'm gonna be under the mistletoe.

“Kiss me underneath the mistletoe, show me baby that you love me so, ‘cause I’m gonna be under the mistletoe.”

“If you insist, Kirstie.” 

I found my hands resting on Avi’s arms, feeling the firmness of deceptively strong biceps beneath his plaid shirt; I don't know when I put my mug down, but I must have. Large, gentle hands cupped my face tenderly, tilting my head up to his, a calloused thumb running along the line of my cheek. I felt the warmth from earlier bloom anew, but it was a different kind of warmth, surer, more intimate. 

Avi placed a sweet, little Christmas kiss on the corner of my mouth, his lips brushing mine for barely a second. I closed my eyes, revelling in the feel of it, as soft as a caress. My hands still rested on his arms, keeping me balanced as he kissed me again, deeper, but still just as sweet. I stood on tiptoe to wind my arms around the basso profondo’s neck, enjoying the solidity of his chest against mine and the warmth that radiated from him. 

It was chaste and romantic, and whatever the cause of the heat I felt, I was melting like chocolate. Even after he broke the kiss, Avi held me close, a large, gentle hand slipping down to the small of my back, the other hand tracing light patterns between my shoulder blades, tangling in the lights woven into my hair. He had rested his cheek on the top of my head when I leaned into his broad chest, burying his face in my hair. I could feel his heart beating, the pulse comfortingly steady and slow against my temple. 

“I’m so happy that I get to spend the holidays with you.” I didn’t know if it was the fire or the wine or Avi’s kiss or the late hour, but I felt sentimental and affectionate. I wanted him to know just how much this moment – in fact, every moment we had shared as a family over the last fortnight – meant to me. 

“I’m happy that I get to spend the holidays with you, too,” Avi replied, caressing my cheek with a soft hand, and I giggled, nuzzling into his embrace. He was warm and comforting, and smelled like cinnamon and spices. I never wanted to leave the protective circle of his arms. 

“I see the children play outside, like angels in the snow,” I sang when I realized that that was what was playing through the speakers, feeling so contented that I barely had the words to describe it, “While mom and daddy share a kiss under the mistletoe-” Avi laughed, kissing my nose as we stood in the doorframe. “-And we'll cherish all these simple things wherever we may be. Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me.”

The basso profondo joined his voice to mine, singing his harmony in the chorus. 

“I've got this Christmas song in my heart, song in my heart/ I've got the candles glowing in the dark/ I'm hanging all the stockings by the Christmas tree. Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me. Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me.” 

I didn’t sing the next verse; it was the one Avi sung solo. I just buried my face in his plaid shirt and felt the rumble of his voice against my sternum. His voice was so low, rich and deep, and I closed my eyes as I felt the sound envelop me like velvet. 

“I listen for the thud of reindeer walking on the roof/ As I fall asleep to lullabies/ the morning's coming soon/ The only gift I'll ever need is the joy of family. Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me.” 

“I've got this Christmas song in my heart, song in my heart,” we sung together, our voices in counterpoint, “I've got the candles glowing in the dark/ I'm hanging all the stockings by the Christmas tree. Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me. Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me.

“Oh, the joy that fills our hearts and makes us see. Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me. I've got this Christmas song in my heart/ I've got the candles glowing in the dark/ And, for years to come, we’ll only know one thing. That’s the joy that Christmas can bring. Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me.” 

We ended in unison octaves. 

Smiling, Avi dipped his head and kissed me again as we stood under the mistletoe, still sweet and blissfully tender, but I could feel him pour his happiness and merriment into the touch of our lips. It was the sweetest Christmas kiss I had ever gotten, and I took a deep breath in sheer joy, feeling the air swirl between our mouths, just enjoying being in the moment with him. When I pulled away, the gorgeous, green-and-gold eyes looked huge in the dim, colourful glow of the fairy lights, his plush lips tilted in a wide smile. 

I ran my fingers through the thick, dark hair that curled under Avi’s festive beanie and kissed him again. He cupped my face, his fingers long and slim, warmed by the mug he had held, and I could feel the callouses on the pads of each fingertip from his guitar, and the grate of his dark beard against my cheek. Smiling against his mouth, I stroked his face, carding my fingers through the neat stubble and feeling its sandpaper roughness. It was such a contrast to the softness of his lips and the gentleness of his embrace, but I loved it. With his sweet, calm nature, it was strange to think of Avi as really ‘manly’, but he was. I could feel it in the muscles that tensed under his jumper and the bass pitch of his sigh as we kissed. 

It was a long time before we pulled away. Even then, I didn’t want to let go of him, and I hugged Avi tightly, with my chin on his chest so I could look up at the so-handsome, so-familiar face, and I felt another rush of gratitude that I could call this wonderful, uncomplicated, caring man mine.

“We’re going to miss Santa Claus if we don’t sleep soon,” Avi teased, and I rolled my eyes. 

“It’s past midnight, Avi; we’ve missed him already. Besides, I don’t want to sleep, not yet,” I groused, so the lean, strong musician scooped me up in his arms, kissing my nose again. 

“You need to sleep, Kirst’. Tomorrow’s a big day; it’s Christmas!” 

“Wise words from a Jew,” I laughed, and Avi stuck his tongue out at me. 

“Oh, sure, make fun of the Jew on Christmas.”

“I’m not!”

The basso profondo sat me on the bench, balancing the plate of cookies in my lap and handing the two mugs of hot chocolate to me to hold so he carried me (plus drinks, plus food) back to the couch. 

Avi set me down carefully, before adding another couple of logs to the dying fire and joining me on the couch again, taking his mug back and putting an arm around my shoulders. We cuddled under the blankets. Avi smelled nice, like spice, and I burrowed under his arm, my hands wrapped around my cup and my head on his shoulder. His plaid shirt was a little itchy under my cheek, but I didn’t care.

We sat in companionable silence while we finished our drinks and ate our cookies, listening to music playing and the snow falling outside. It was warm and romantic, and I loved every second. Avi reached up, untangling the coloured lights I had twisted into my hair, placing them on the coffee table. I hummed contently as his deft, guitarist’s fingers wove the blonde curls in a loose plait for me. His hands brushed the back of my neck as he did so. It tickled, but it was a good kind of tickle.

I was feeling ridiculously sentimental again. Christmas did that to me. 

Eventually, as much as I had complained about not wanting to sleep, I felt my eyelids drooping, and Avi took my empty mug and set it on the ground next to his before I dropped it. He folded both arms around me, and rocked me back and forth, brushing the backs of his knuckles against my cheek in a tender caress as he leaned his head on mine again, my cheek nestled in the hollow of his throat. 

“Sleep, sleep,” he sang softly, his solo part in the PTX arrangement of Silent Night; he knew that was one of my favourites. I could feel the vibrations of his Adam’s apple rumbling against my temple as he hummed low. “Oh, sleep, sleep. Silent night, holy night. Silent night, holy night. Silent night, holy night. Silent night, holy night…” 

“Happy Hanukah, Avriel,” I murmured into his side, stifling a yawn. When he replied, I could hear the smile in his rich, bass voice.

“Merry Christmas, Kirstie. Sweet dreams.” 

I smiled. Avi kissed my forehead. 

“With you here, they will be.”


End file.
